Poem by Dan Stone
We play this game
when it’s not clear
what’s next to do.
Sometimes, too,
when I’m down.
When I need dreams
to come when called,
to know their names.
It’s a wait and see
that never fails
to fix my frown,
pick me up.
I just toss the ball
to fetch what’s
feeling lost,
cure what ails.
It doesn’t cost
a thing to turn around
from stuck to free,
from then to now.
A chore, it’s not.
I just whistle,
let it go,
and all I need
to know,
what I forgot,
like friends
so true,
faithfully
comes back to me.
We play this game
when it’s not clear
what’s next to do.
Sometimes, too,
when I’m down.
When I need dreams
to come when called,
to know their names.
It’s a wait and see
that never fails
to fix my frown,
pick me up.
I just toss the ball
to fetch what’s
feeling lost,
cure what ails.
It doesn’t cost
a thing to turn around
from stuck to free,
from then to now.
A chore, it’s not.
I just whistle,
let it go,
and all I need
to know,
what I forgot,
like friends
so true,
faithfully
comes back to me.